Blood on the Sand
by TMOTTCrowd
Summary: Selandra Winfall, The Hideous Hurricane, is one of the greatest gladiators on Azeroth, but even legends have nightmares. Will she conquer these demons, her ultimate fan trying to slay her, and even...find her lost son. I own nothing of WoW, please R&R
1. Chapter 1

Blood on the Sand

Chapter 1

"If you are a gladiator, then that means you live a life lower than that of an animal. Delude yourself if you wish, try to prove me wrong with tales of a gladiator's glory, how the people love and adore them. When you are a gladiator, you are immortal; you can never die, for your name will live on in tales until the end of time. You could not be any farther from the truth you pitiful little worm.

Those people you hear, calling out your name in admiration. They will also cheer with thunderous applause as your opponent plunges their sword into your stomach. After that, your time will be over, blotted out by the next gladiator and the gladiator after that one, and so on, until you are a joke, then you'll be nothing. Gladiators live their lives like dogs, except to my knowledge goblins don't own dogs, so perhaps we are worse off than dogs.

You ask how I know these things. How am I certain that your illustrious career will end with you bleeding on the ground, looking up at the sky, wondering what you did wrong? Don't take it personally, it'll just be because the other guy was better than you, or you just weren't on the top of your game. All in all, being a gladiator is a pretty useless choice when it comes to jobs. That's why I didn't choose to be one, I had to. The question is, more importantly, why do you _want_ to be one?"

The young orc wanted to choose her words carefully, this I could tell. Shouts thundered down at us from the outside, the bloodthirsty crowd wanting me to be torn asunder for my tardiness. For all I cared the crowd could fall on my sword, this was more important. This orc woman, this Morska, as they called her, was supposedly my biggest fan. She told me how she had watched all of my matches since she was little, and now that she is grown up, she wants to follow my example. In response, I promptly told her the cold truth about this profession, and for a moment, I could see something of regret in her eyes. Perhaps she truly did not wish to be a gladiator, I'd say it would most certainly extend her life expectancy, but once you're in, there is no escape.

She was certainly muscular, common for an orc like her, but she was leaner, more agile. Her path was not a warrior; she chose the path of a rogue, which works well enough in the arena. A rogue had almost bested me once, before I sank my blades into his chest. There was a way about her that seemed odd. Something about her brown eyes that just happened to look down yet filled with determination, or rather how she ran her fingers through that black hair of hers. Doubt crept into her, but I knew it would not stay for long. When I looked over her, I saw the brand mark that crept over shoulder. Memories of my own started to flash before me, making the brand on my own back start to itch. That was the mark of a goblin lord, just like mine, perhaps I would ask him if he owned her or not.

"I joined because I plan on making my legend stronger, proving you wrong and killing you all in the process." Morska said flat out. This was surprising to me, though I guess it should not have, besides the part where she said she planned on killing me. There were better ways of doing that, so why risk losing it all this way?

"So you wish to prove me wrong, and to kill me? To kill me would hardly make proving me wrong worthwhile, since I won't be around to fully gloat over." It was difficult to find a gladiator with intellect these days. Mages and the rest of the spellcasters were smart, but they lacked the type of social etiquette I wanted, especially the other blood elves. All they wanted to do is mock me for either being a warrior or not being pretty enough for them. As a fellow blood elf, I take offense to that, but then the reflection from my swords tells me their right, and I cease to care afterwards.

"Killing you will make me more famous, as no one has killed you. You are currently one of the top ranked gladiators in Azeroth. If I kill you, I'll become the most deadly woman in the arena, and then I will stay that way for as long as it takes. Once my legend has been cemented, and my name is forever known until the end of time, then I will prove you're wrong. It doesn't matter that you'll be dead, your spirit will be proven wrong well enough." A sound theory, though I suppose it should unnerve me more than impress me. I chuckled softly, not as an insult, but like a refreshing sip of water that cools your lips. "Good."

Now it was her who was surprised, this time it was much more than mine. "I...I don't understand."

"Don't disappoint me now Morska. You understand completely, I know you do." My tone became more serious. If she didn't understand, then she was just another glory seeking fool to bleed from me.

Thankfully, she seemed like she completely understood, and explained why. "As I watched your matches, I would look at your face, during the times the sun was too hot and you pulled it off afterwards." That much was certainly true. There have been times where the sun was just too much for me, and I had to remove my helmet. At first I did not want to do such a thing, as my face had been left terribly scarred by the attack on my home of Silvermoon. Before then I was known as the Deadly Tornado, but after that, I was the Hideous Hurricane. I did not see Morska during those times, or perhaps I did not remember her, but I gave the crowd a certain look.

"At first you sneered, but then you became indifferent to the crowd. That is why you do not care if they yell for your death, and it is why you have such a view about being a gladiator. You don't want to be a gladiator, but you refuse to die, because you are searching for something. I do not know what, but that does not matter now. We have all chosen this life, so we know how it must end. I know that someday I will die to another, but before then I will have killed you. By then, all will know me as a legend, and even if I do die, I will live on in their memories whether they like it or not. You enjoy this fact, because it means someone may be worthy of killing you, and because perhaps someone is willing to make things better. I plan on becoming the best, so that I can bring honor to the gladiators, so that we will become greater than the beasts you think we are. Perhaps that will give your spirit rest." She shrugged. "Perhaps it will not, even so, I will do all these things. So remember me, Selandra Windfall, Hideous Hurricane, for I will bring you death, then I will bring you peace."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

There was some time for reflection of Morska's words as I stood at the arena. Each match only starts when the Overseer begins, and the Overseer, who's an imbecile of an orc, loves to see us gloat. He gives us a few minutes to act like a fool before we rip each other to shreds. It gives the crowd some entertainment, so the goblins allow it. Of course when it's my turn, I simply bow and take out my swords, so the Overseer really hates me.

My opponent though, was a foolish gnome in a mage's outfit. I say this, because I know he's not a mage, he's actually a rogue who believes he can fool me into believing he's a mage so I'll try and charge him. As soon as I do, he'll slip a poisoned dagger in between the plates of my armor, paralyzing me and leaving me defenseless. How he ever rose to such a rank as to challenge me, I'll never truly know, but his career ends today.

A booming voice came over the crowd, it seems the Overseer had enough of the gnome's moves. "Welcome to another glorious day of the Arena!" His voice was so grating to my ears, and even worse with the sun pounding on me. "Are you ready to see the Hideous Hurricane finally meet her match? I sure am! She is absolutely no fun! Now let's see if Lucky Bucky Steve is going to finally make my dreams come true!" The crowd seemed to get more excited about this. It's true that I'm not the most liked of the gladiators, I'm no Rose Royce or The Jack, but neither have those have a fan like Morska, so I guess that's where I'm lucky, I suppose.

Being a warrior had it's drawbacks, like the plate armor that weighed more than three times that gnome, but I had earned this armor and only the best get it. Mine was especially crafted to accentuate my title, with steel grey lines curving to the left. In both my hands were my tools of the trade, two handed swords that required only the strongest of arms to wield. They were beautiful, elven blades, personally retrieved from the ruins of Silvermoon, with none as their equal. They had shed so much blood, it almost makes me sad to think about sometimes.

"Okay, _Hurricane._ Come and get me. Better be quick because I know just the spell to take you down." The blue haired would-be wizard said, wiggling his fingers. This was the kind of thing I hated the most and with the utmost of certainty. Being a gladiator is enough of a joke as it is, without the others making it into some sort of game. People died, no do-overs, no restarts, no resurrections. We all just died, and nobody seems to take that fact seriously. Taking a step forward slowly, I spoke to him. "Go on then, _Steve_. Hit me with your best shot."

"Wha-what are you talking about? Come on, charge at me you idiot or I'm going to vaporize you!" Lucky Bucky Steve was getting nervous, and for each step I took, he took one back. It was a wasted effort though, my stride was twice as much as his, so it wasn't long before I was just about to get within range. "How does a big dumb fool like you not get what I'm saying?"

"Is that what you think of me? I'm truly hurt Steve. Even more hurt than that spell you're threatening me with, or maybe that dagger in your sleeve."

"What? I…I don't know what you're talking about, I'm just a mage, I don't have a dagger on me." He was getting more nervous, but something told me to stay my blade, this was too easy.

"You don't? Then where's your staff? Your Wand? Surely, you brought something with you to this fight besides magic, because you clearly don't have any magic." As a precaution, I kicked my foot up, sending sand into his face and obscuring both our visions. My instincts have kept me alive, and they seem to have kept me alive once more. Instead of recoiling from the sand in fear, the gnome's face twisted into something of hatred towards me. Taking a quick slice through the air I dissipated the sand, with the gnome nowhere to be seen. One could almost taste the venom in his voice.

"What kind of insignificant worm kicks dirt in a guy's face? Are you always this much of an dirty trick playing bitch?!"

I said nothing, for there was nothing to be said. Honor was for paladins and the living. Gladiators do not have such a luxury, for we are not technically alive. Every gladiator lives for as long as their owner says they may live. Some may get lucky when they outlive their usefulness, they may just get thrown out into the sewers of Dalaran, drinking their lives away. Others have to do their last fight, with nothing but a shield, a sword and a single piece of armor. Most choose grieves, though that doesn't help for very long, given dignity doesn't keep an arrow from piercing your chest.

The gnome had stopped talking, which was bad for me. When he first started yelling insults at me, I figured he was somewhere on my left, about ten feet off. Someone once told me that rogues always attacked from behind, but I'm not so certain now. It's been seven seconds already and he hasn't attacked yet, he could try to sap me, but the trinket around my neck would prove that useless. As soon as he tried, I'd activate it and we'd be right back where we started. There wasn't much I could do, but I knew I had to do something.

"Come on Lucky, I know you can do it! Tear out her heart from her chest!" The crowd cheered him on, yelling his name to the heavens, how I wish they'd all just die. There was something I could try, but it was a long shot, but I had a feeling that Lucky Bucky Steve had a bit of an ego. "They're right, I am no fun. Only you can bring glory back to the arena by killing me. Besides, the sun is killing me, and I want to rest." As a show, I started to breath heavily, the not too much to make it look like an act, but enough to hopefully convince him.

There was no movement, so I threw down my swords and tore off my trinket. "Come on, you want me to start taking off my armor too?" The crowd started going wild, and I could barely hear anything, but Lucky was just loud enough to say. "_Show me your face._"

My face wasn't something I liked to show very often, not because of how ugly it had become, but because of how ugly people got when they saw me. Many years ago, when I was a much younger girl living in Silvermoon, with much younger hopes and dreams. At that time, I was a scullery maid for one of the taverns. Not the illustrious career I have now, but when your family refuses to support you because you dream of something more, than you have to take what you can get. There were many reports of the undead marching upon us, but there was no way they could breach our city, not with Sylvanas and our magic protecting us. Maybe it was our arrogance that brought our destruction, maybe we weren't vigilant enough, all I knew, was that I had to get away before a ghoul ate my face.

I had never encountered the undead before, I honestly thought they were just a myth brought on to scare children, but that creature was no myth. It looked to be a human, with scraps of clothes hanging off its gnarled body. Fear paralyzed me, it shook me and it motivated me to run after the ghoul slashed me across the face with its disgusting rotting hand. I was in my room at the basement of the tavern when he attacked. The air was musky; it smelled of wine and rats, along with decaying flesh. Escape was impossible as the undead blocked my escape, and a part of me started to except that I was going to die in a crummy basement.

There was a rumbling in the earth, and before I knew it, my whole world came crumbling down on me, in a very literal way. When the floor collapsed on us, the ghoul was killed instantly, somehow I had survived. It was three days I was trapped in that wretched place, infection raging through my body, and my tears begging for death. Death did not come, but goblins did. Sometimes I wished death came first.

They were looking for loot, but found me instead. While they thought that I might make for a good slave, my need for survival proved too great for their attempts at breaking me. After snapping one of the goblins arms, his partner started to take out his sword. If not for the captain of the ship coming down to investigate why they were being so slow, I would have most certainly met my blessed release. His name was Zelbo, and he loved feisty blonde elves. He took me into the zeppelin, fed me and made me his property. Most goblins would have sold me in a heartbeat, but Zelbo thought long term, he wanted a gladiator, but not just any gladiator, a winning gladiator. I've made a lot of money for Zelbo, and of course, haven't seen a single copper of it.

Throwing off my helmet was easy enough; the knife that sliced the back of my knee, and then touched my neck as soon as I went to one knee wasn't as easy. I could feel the warm blood trickling onto my skin. Guess my gamble was going to end poorly for me.

"I knew I'd get you, one way or another. The Hideous Hurricane, on her knees to me, Lucky Bucky Steve, nothing could possibly feel as good." There truly was a gleam of happiness in his eyes, as if his dreams were coming true.

"It's great isn't it? Look at them, all just cheering your name. You'll be a legend, Steve, imagine that."

He chuckled. "Yeah…imagine that." His eyes darted just for a moment, to see the crowd cheering him, then I crushed his dreams right in front of him. The first fist flew into his stomach, my other hand wrenching the dagger from his hand, a couple of fingers breaking in the process. There was no time for him to plead, to beg or to even cry out in anger as I took his dagger and jammed it into chest. We both fell, with death taking the foolish gnome, my own body falling to the paralysis of the poison, but it was clear who the crowd wanted.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Lucky Bucky Steve was a real scumbag when it came to poisons. That imp's poison paralyzed me for a whole day, with me barely able to move my face as sand got in my mouth; that is not a pleasant experience. During my convalescence, Zelbo gave me his own five star spa day. He always wore an odd headband with a metal disk spinning at the center of it, with black and white swirling inside of the disk like some sort of hypnotizing trick. It always gave me a small smile to see it, as though he were trying to trick me into thinking he wasn't a money grubbing eccentric.

"Can't believe that mook got the drop on ya. Back in the day, rogues would have been lucky to get that close to a warrior." Zelbo said, massaging my locked muscles. When I was younger, I thought he was a perv, but Zelbo had his mind on much bigger things than simple pleasures. I've been told he hasn't been on a date with any of his three girlfriends for the past few weeks, must mean something's big on the horizon. "I got you a match coming up next week from today. It's gonna be the biggest fight ever seen, and you'er gonna get put on the top!"

"It better be better than…the last fight." I managed to get out, I was improving greatly, which only made Zelbo more confident in his nonexistent healing skills. While I was able to speak more clearly as the poisoned passed, but it felt like my jaws were made of rust, and I had run out of oil. Zelbo once got me a fight, actually it wasn't really a fight, just a bet he had with another goblin. His friend (goblins don't have friends by the way) wagered I couldn't beat one of his fighters with one of my arms tied behind my back. It was very disappointing, especially when his fighter knocked away my sword and I was forced to stomp him into the ground. Zelbo said it was funny, I just found it annoying.

"Don't worry H.H. This fight is gonna be the fight for your life, especially since no one's betting me, I'm betting them!" This brought some concerns to attention. Zelbo getting involved with something was one matter, but when _he_ starts something, he really makes his personality traits known. "Anyone ever tell you you can grind coal into diamonds with these guns?" He said as he massaged my arms.

"No, but I have a feeling I can grind a goblin's… head into a fine dust if his he got the wrong idea." This was our way of teasing each other. "Now what's this fight about?" I needed to know what I was going to be up against, especially where Zelbo was concerned.

"Don't worry about that kid, just bring in your A game." He said with a crooked smile, the disk somehow spinning faster.

"Zelbo…you know I hate…surprises. Tell me…what I'm up against." My hands began to clench up into fists as the anger started to broil.

Of course, Zelbo wasn't scared of me. Nothing but hell or high water could scare Zelbo, and Zelbo flew in scavenging teams to raid Silvermoon days after Arthas attacked. He stopped massaging me, which I was grateful for and called for my armor to be retrieved. At the moment, I was just in a white dress that covered me tastefully, but it was linen, which itched. "You are getting an interview from the great Andromeda Sunchaser." He cackled. "This is gonna be huge, the fight of the century, even better than when that king Varian was a gladiator!" I never was able to understand what was going on in his head, but whatever it was; I was interested to see what he had planned.

Of course that didn't make me feel better about getting interviewed of course. This Andromeda Sunchaser must be a blood elf, probably a blond one considering how excited Zelbo was. I didn't like blood elves too much, probably because they didn't like me, probably because most of them believe I'm beneath them. If this woman was like the rest of them, then this was going to be a short interview.

Donning my armor always made me feel better. I felt safer inside that armor than any of Zelbo's bunkers, sometimes I didn't even feel it's weight. While the poison still made me feel sluggish, I was regaining my ability to walk and move. Slowly I got up from the chair, but I almost stumbled, which the aids were able to keep me balanced. They helped me equip my armor, but I pushed them aside after that. Gladiators are supposed to be tough, and I didn't like to be touched when I was in my armor.

The room I found the elf in was comfortable, cool and well lit. There were two chairs in the room, with no one else but Andromeda and I. She was certainly had beauty, with radiant green eyes, almost shining tan skin and bleach blond hair. Those eyes of hers seemed to have the usual air of peppy, bubbly happiness that came off as waves. She got up quickly and went to me, but my glare kept her at a distance.

"I'm sorry; I should have known the Horrible Hurricane needed no one to help her." Her voice was giggly and soft, she sat back down, still smiling. "Whenever you're ready we'll begin." She got out a quill and parchment, I could smell the magic on the quill, which explained why there was no inkwell nearby. "I can't tell you how much of an honor this is for me. Personally I find you a hero of mine."

"You idolize a murderer…who kills to placate a crowd of cheering…fools. I wonder…who is the sick one?" I sat down on the other chair, studying her as I tried to catch my breath. Damn that gnome and his poisons, I still felt weak.

Andromeda merely gave a warm laugh. "Yes, that is an interesting question. I knew this was going to be a great interview. There are so many questions that our readers want to ask. I should have known that the Arena's most depressing gladiator would be so…cynical." Hearing this made me feel a bit offended, though I couldn't express why.

"I'm…not depressing. They cheer for me…though some boo."

"Yes that is true, but that's mostly the die-hard fans, admirers of mechanics and people that hated your opponent more than you. Outside of the Arena though, it's almost sad to hear about your fights." The blood elf stated in a matter of fact way. I wasn't expecting to be insulted right out of the gate, I also didn't notice that while she was looking at me, her hand was writing non-stop.

"What…are you writing…about me?"

"Let me give you a few examples I memorized before coming here." Her hand didn't stop. "The Hideous Hurricane fights Luny Lu Lu, wins in twenty five seconds." I could have sworn it was at least five minutes, but Lu Lu had a way of using magic that made one…disoriented. "The Hideous Hurricane fights Orgh'Grok Bonesword, victory in under ten seconds." That orc tried to kill me with a sword made of bone, how could I not beat him that quickly? "Honestly your most flavorful fight was the most recent one with Lucky Bucky Steve. The Hideous Hurricane fights Lucky Bucky Steve, wins in thirty seconds with the Hideous Hurricane paralyzed with sand in her mouth. I wasn't certain if that last part was true, but considering how hard your fists are clenching it is."

She was right, and after I unclenched my fists, I let out a slow breath. "What does it…matter?"

"It matters because the difference between a good gladiator and a great one is their reputation. You're a killing machine in that arena, but you have the personality of a rock, literally. No one has seen you crack a smile or a frown or anything during a single fight. Why hold yourself back like that?"

"Why…am I your hero?" Was all I could come up with.

"Because I know that there's more to you. With what you've been through, there has to. I want to ask you some personal questions that I've formed before coming here. Is that all right with you?" Her expression changed, from bubbly to concerning, looking deeper into me. I felt like I wanted to retreat further into my armor.

"Yes…ask your questions…" I said, unsure of where she was going, but I knew that I had to do this. Some part of me wouldn't let me fight my way out of that room.

"First…I want to ask where you were when Silvermoon fell. Before you ask, I was in the western Ghostlands with some family, we fled as quickly as we could from Arthas when we saw him coming."

"I was…in Silvermoon, when it was sacked." I said, my heart beginning to pound with more volume in my chest. "I almost died there."

"I see. Your manager—"

"Owner. Zelbo owns me. That…is the truth…"

"Okay, your owner, Zelbo, says that he found you in the ruins. Is that part true?" She must have had amazing coordination skills to ask me questions and to write perfectly on that parchment. It seemed she hadn't have made it to the middle of the page, but there were incredible amounts of words crammed into the page.

"Yes…but he never fought off a horde of ghouls to get to me…his men just found me by accident." The memory, while still instilling fear, was almost funny when I looked back on it.

There was a small smile on Andromeda's lips, but she was still determined. "I see. There are stories that say Zelbo brought in the legendary Manslaughter Mustang to train you. What was that like?"

A chill went up my spine when that name was uttered. The first year was the worst of my life, and all because of that old son of a gun. "Manslaughter Mustang…was an awful…cruel pain in my ass. He'd run me into the ground…and when I'd hit the ground…he'd put his boot…on my head and say."

"Come on little girl! I thought you blood elves loved to be in the spa! Well guess what, you just got a coupon for a free mud mask!" His boot forced my face into the mud, my body thrashing for air, but that bastard wouldn't give it to me. His calloused, brutal hand gripped my hair and pulled it back hard. As I gasped for breath, he'd sneer at me, showing me plenty of his toothless gums. "Oh I'm sorry, am I being too rough? Well let me make it up to you, I seem to have found a special in your coupon, turns out it was a two for one sale."

"Please don't!" But my face was put right back into the mud.

Andromeda didn't seemed fazed by it, which surprised me a lot more than I thought. "Yes, Mustang was considered a horrible person, but it seems his training payed off." She reasoned, and she was correct in this assumption. Mustang was the meanest human I had ever known, but he taught me much about the arena.

"Princess, the arena is nothing but a graveyard. We just haven't been put into the ground just yet." He said one day, looking towards the sunset and drinking from a cheap silver flask he always had.

"But you got out right? You don't have to be a gladiator anymore." I told him, mud still covering most of my body.

He didn't say anything to me, he just continued looking at the setting sun. When he did say something, it was after he pushed me back onto the ground. "Hurry up princess, we're going home."

"It did pay off…but he was still a bastard." This woman, this Andromeda, was a very odd elf. She hungered for more knowledge, but I needed to keep her off me for just a while longer, so my heart would stop pounding. "You said that you saw me…as your hero. Why are you tearing me down?"

"You say I'm tearing you down, I like to think of it as constructive criticism. In you, the people can see the grief, the gritty and the unpleasant part of the arena. With war raging all around us, sometimes we forget our morality. Maybe you can remind them of it, with my help, of course." She said with a smile.

So there was ambition with her as well as that perky energy. "Are we almost done?" I wanted to get out of here and to sleep off the rest of this damn poison.

"Just one more question. This is one I wanted to save for last, because I feel like this is the one that may cause a…aggressive reaction." Whatever the question was going to be, the way she shifted her position in her seat made me feel uncomfortable as well. If she did ask that question—the one I knew she was going to ask — then I was going to either hit her, or break down entirely.

"I'd like to know more about the affair you had with Lord Rivet."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Lord Richard Rivet the Third. That man came into my life like a warm summer breeze, which turned into a tornado in what seemed like seconds. Most know him as a man of industry, the owner and proprietor of Azeroth's largest weapons manufacturer. On that day, he was a seller of death, a merchant of war, and the man I fell in love with.

Living in Silvermoon was difficult for me, as I was very young. Rent was high and I had worked two jobs in two different taverns, which proved a fruitless effort for me. I feared for what I had to do, and since my family had renounced me as part of their own, I found little support. (There was my uncle, who was more reviled than me for the rumors of practice in blood magic. He denies them, but I always found it difficult to accept money from him.) It was during a sweltering summer day that I first met him.

Humans were an uncommon sight in Silvermoon, as they were too superstitious of the High Elves to visit often. Such rumors or wives tales did not easily sway Lord Rivet; in fact, he was there on business. A foolhardy attempt, certainly, no elf would use a human made weapon, but Lord Rivet loved making money off the impossible.

When Lord Rivet entered a room, he had a charm about him that drew everyone in the room. Everything about him seemed noble, almost royal even, as if he knew just how high he was in his status. Hair a rich black, with only a small amount of gray in the sides of his head complimented the handsome lines that shaped his face. Eyes of a silver blue covered with circled spectacles that gave him an air of intelligence. If compared to an elf, he would not be considered as beautiful, but the elves have scorned me many times, so anything was better than they were.

Sitting down at a table close to me, he called to me with a kind and soft voice. "You there, my girl, would you please recommend me an ale that could refresh me in such a tremendous heat." Lord Rivet spoke in such a kind manner and gentle way, it made me smile, a rare thing for me. To think that such a man was here in such a small tavern astounded me. The innkeeper himself almost fainted when he came in, but warned me that Lord Rivet was a renowned bigot.

"Serve him his drinks, food, whatever, just ignore what he says. His favorite one is long ears, so just ignore it, okay. I might just up your pay if you do well." Somehow, it was difficult to see this man as the big bad wolf everyone thought he was.

Sweeping up a few strands of hair behind my ears, I looked at him, finding my smile get larger. "Well, milord, the blueberry wine is chilled down in the cellar. I could fetch it for you if you want some sir."

Lord Rivet chuckled softly at me; he took out a coin purse and started to look through it. It looked heavy and jingled softly when he put it onto the table. "Now young lady, I just cannot sleep at night if I allowed such a delicate flower to go into such a musty old basement." He looked over at the innkeeper; he looked like the statue of a scared old elf. "You sir, would it not be the act of a true gentleman to get the wine for your employee? Surely she has worked hard enough for the day; she has certainly brought a smile onto my face." The smile was there on his face, and I thought that I might have laughed myself silly. Stammering out a reply, the innkeeper went down into the basement, much to my relief. That damned thing was always so musty, and I could swear there was a spider somewhere waiting to pounce when my guard was down. My opinion of it lessened further when it fell on top of me.

"Now that he is gone, I feel as though we can truly talk perhaps." It was a slow day for us, and Lord Rivet was the only one that had visited. My face became red as a cherry, and I brushed away invisible strands of hair. "Milord, I am not that kind of scullery maid, I do not…take requests of that nature." A part of me was worried he would start to shout, but he simply removed his hat and held it to his chest.

"My dear girl, I apologize for my actions. A true gentleman always states his intentions, and I have failed in that regard." Lord Rivet got up from his chair and pulled up the one across from it. "I merely wish to talk with you, to get to know you better. Nothing more, my dear, I swear upon my honor." Those eyes seemed so sincere and honest; my heart skipped a beat, just like a stupid young girl.

Pleasantries were the first things we exchanged. It was surprising to hear that he was the third consecutive child in his line named Richard. I never understood why humans would carry on such a tradition, it seemed like you were forcing the child to be like the parents instead of their own person. That should have been my first clue to who he truly was on the outside.

"Why me though? I'm nothing, just a fool of an elf who is struggling to survive. Forgive me milord, but it's difficult to understand why someone like you is interested in someone like me." Richard merely smiled and leaned back against his chair, looking at me as though my past didn't exist, like I was a good person.

"My ancestor, Jeremiah Rivet, was nothing. Just a junk vendor with a couple of extra swords on his back, which was useless for someone who didn't know how to use one. What he did have though, was the will to survive. Because of that will, the company is what it is today. This trip wasn't just so I could try to sell weapons to your people, I had a feeling they were going to tell me no. Your people are incredibly arrogant." He gave a warm chuckle. "It's somewhat refreshing from the usual nonsense. I'm always getting compared to either dwarves or goblins, I was hoping for a challenge though, not a brick wall."

"I don't hold much love for my people. Ever since my family cast me out, I've felt alone." My smile turned into a frown, and I laid my hands onto the table, feeling more tired than I thought I was. What happened next dictated the rest of my life forever. Lord Rivet placed a gloved hand upon mine; it was soft, fine leather that felt like cool air. As he looked upon my face, I felt like life had finally given me the chance I needed to be free from this hell.

"Come, my dear. Let me show you how life can be good to you." It was like he read my mind, and after he paid the innkeeper a hundred gold, we went out to the greatest night of my life. With his money, I was able to see the beautiful parts of Silvermoon. There were things that I saw that took my breath away. Never before had I seen all of the magnificent towers of the mages so close before. There were buildings I had no idea existed, libraries that held thousands of books and restaurants that had the sweetest food you could possibly taste. We danced until the moon started to dip into the horizon. After that, I had spent the rest of the night with him, certain that I would finally live the life I deserved. Instead, I woke to an empty bed, with nothing but a note expressing the Lord's apologies, how he hopes I stay well, and that he left me a sizeable amount of gold so that I'd never have to work again between his visits.

At first, I was upset. I had hoped that Lord Rivet would be my knight in shining armor, my perfect gentleman. With a little bit of time, I learned to romanticize the entire affair. Of course we could not be a couple, he was a Lord after all, with a wife and children from what I heard. If anyone found out we were having an affair it would destroy him, and everything else he made in his life. Every couple of months or so he would probably come and visit me again, we'd have fun dancing in the night. Afterwards he'd give me more money and I could live in the lap of luxury.

Boredom was my biggest enemy in all of this. As the weeks went on, my hope was beginning to wane, and for some reason, my belly was beginning to wax. After taking a visit to a healer, I had learned that Lord Rivet had left me with more than just gold. They told me the child is to be a boy, and everything started to get…strange, I think the word was. My family started to visit me; my parents started calling me their daughter once more. While they did not approve of me holding a bastard child in my womb, they still supported me. Having my family back made me feel nice, and it was wonderful knowing that things were finally getting better for me. I think a part of me knew that none of it was real, that soon it was all going to come crashing down. Of course, no one wants to accept that their world is going to crumble on their heads.

Weeks turned into months, my love for the child grew, but my love for Richard started to diminish. He should have visited by now, especially when my birthday came. One hundred is an important age for the high elves, or as the humans understand, the eighteenth birthday. Many tears were shed during that birthday, mostly mine, but it just felt so good to be with my family once again. The day finally came that my child, whom I named Ish'Nalar, announced his arrival. I wasn't ready to let go of the one thing that brought my family to me, but he was a stubborn boy. The happiest moment of my life came when Ish'Nalar was born; the worst moment came when his father finally returned minutes after.

Two healers were attending to me as I held him in my arms, his peaceful face smiling at me. A door opened, and to my jubilation, Richard was there, looking at us. "Oh Richard, I'm so glad you've returned!"

"I've no time for pleasantries, elf. It is time that you give me my son." Confusion washed over me like a tidal wave. Why did he look at me with such contempt and revulsion?

"I…I suppose you could hold Ish'Nalar for a minute. Are you okay my love?"

His face twisted into a hateful glare. "Such a ridiculous name, no son of mine will have a filthy elvish name." He started to step towards me, and I held my child closer, away from him. "Do not force my hand, whore. I will not hesitate to kill every single one of your wretched long eared family before I leave you to a much worse fate." That look in his eyes, that hatred, made me believe he would do all that and more.

"Please…please don't take my baby." Tears began to stream from my eyes. I was hoping—in vain— that he would understand enough to show mercy to me, this of course, was impossible for such a demon as Lord Rivet. "I'm his mother…I am HIS mother. You can't take him from me. I won't let you take my baby from me you monster!"

"You have me mistaken for one of your kind, whore. I can't tell you how easy it was for me to pay the right people to keep me up to date on your progress. At first I was hoping to just keep you around as my personal concubine for business trips, and then you just had to get pregnant." When he looked at me this time, I felt like the smallest thing in existence, like an ant staring at a titan. "You are going to give me that bastard, and you will never tell anyone a word about this. If you don't, then I will bury you, and I don't just mean put you in worse poverty than you were before. I mean that I will have you buried in a field under six feet of dirt, with no one to find you as the worms take you. No matter what, elf, that child will be mine. Your decision is whether or not you want to live to cry about it in the night."

Pain like I had never imagined welled up in my chest, a pain that hurt more than any sword possibly could. Slowly, painstakingly, I released my child to that demon, his eyes never leaving mine. My pain was actually a pleasure to him, a sick pleasure that fed some dark recess where his heart once was.

Lord Rivet took my child, Ish'Nalar beginning to cry loudly. The monster looked at the healers with a smile. "Now you will do your part, correct?" To my dismay, the healers nodded. Once he left, they started to write something down and looked sad.

"It's a shame about the baby."

"You always hope that magic can save their precious lives, but sometimes, they just can't survive."

My parents bought the story of my miscarriage. Their look of disapproval outweighed my wailing and crying. I imagined that any attempt at trying to prove my innocence would be thwarted with the simple explanation of a delusional mother who had just lost her child. Again, I was alone in a cruel, cold world, forced to scratch out a living while my family looked at me with shame.

I was done talking with Andromeda, and she thankfully had the sense not to press me for more questions. The poison was receding quickly from me, allowing me to go back into my quarters. Zelbo had only to look at me once to stay out of my way. Even though he owned me, he knew I'd kill him at that moment if he tried to stop me from going to my room. Slamming the door shut, I took a moment to finally breath, air only coming in as raspy, ragged breaths. The room itself was bare, with nothing decorating it besides one thing, a single picture I had drawn of Ish'Nalar. Finally I collapsed onto my bed, sobbing quietly as I curled up the most I could, trying to retreat further and further into my armor, until blissful sleep took me.

_Author's Note: Hey guys! Hope you guys are liking the story. I'm glad that it's getting some views on the site. I would appreciate a review if possible, mostly because I get paranoid about that kind of stuff. We can even be fair about it, for each person that reviews my story, I will review one of yours, fair and square __ have a good day and I wish you well._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Gladiators do not get the luxury of pining over their emotions until their ready to fight. When you are told to kill, you must kill, if you allow your feelings to cloud your thoughts, then you will lie dead on the sand with the crowd cheering over the spectacle. Perhaps it is just the weight of that interview, but I feel as though my own morbid thoughts are pressing down on me like an anvil. Zelbo would always suggest I simply drink away such emotions, but the bottle has taken down more gladiators than I. I would simply have to bury these feelings, hopefully with the blood of my enemies.

Andromeda said that my fights were boring, that they had no flavor. This was never something that I wanted. I never became a gladiator for any sort of reward, be it monetary or appraise. All this has ever been for me was survival. If not for Zelbo, that musty roof, my will to live, I would be just another mindless corpse awaiting the sweet release of death. Perhaps the I was destined for that result, whether I lived or died.

Today was just going to be another normal day for me, another life or death battle between myself and another person. Zelbo personally warned me about this one, which was odd for me at that time.

"Now this broad, she's never been defeated. Yeah, yeah, quit lookin at me like that, kid. This chick, she's beaten seven others already without raising a finger. She walks in, stands there, the other guy freaks out and they kill themselves. Now whatever you do, don't kill yourself, you got a lot to live for, like that match we talked about."

"You never told me what this match was in the first place." I told him, feeling more annoyed by the minute.

Zelbo, in his usual flustering fashion, pushed the subject away. "Don't worry kid it's gonna be great, just get on in there and give everyone a nice cat fight." Why did goblins have to be such pigs?

The sky was covered in clouds, and the sand I walked upon felt cold through my boots. Air seemed to avoid me, making it difficult to breath, and it seemed that things just felt wrong. In this world, superstition was just another word for warning. When I was younger, my mother warned me that whenever something like this was happening, you needed to ask for forgiveness immediately. Only one kind of person was able to make your entire world feel like it's starting to go upside down, a priest.

She walked out of the gate calmly, like it was a normal day at the temple for her. With her stature, skin tone, and her cloven feet, I guessed she had to be a draenei. Standing at about five feet nine was the only feature I could make out on her. The hood of her robes, and the shadows that swirled all around her hid the rest of her features. Our people have never really met eye to eye on matters, what with my people trying to kill hers. Her being a shadow priestess didn't make me feel any better, she's different from the others I had faced. Most shadow priests were just concerned with putting out the most damage as possible, but she seemed worse than that.

Sixty feet separated us and I had to act before she made her move. Never before had I felt such terror begin to creep up on me, and I wanted to chop her up into little pieces so I wouldn't feel afraid anymore. I made it halfway, when her eyes opened two white orbs were boring into me, stopping me and a booming voice louder than an explosion rang out.

_**SELANDRA WINDFALL, MANY PEOPLE HAVE DIED BECAUSE OF YOU. WITH THE MERCY OF A DEMON, YOU HAVE SLAIN OTHERS, BUT YOU HAVE ALSO SUFFERED GREATLY AT THE HANDS OF EVIL MEN. YOU WILL BE TESTED, AS SO MANY OTHERS BEFORE YOU HAVE BEEN TESTED. IF YOU PROVE UNABLE TO COMPLETE THIS TRIAL, THEN YOU WILL DIE THE SAME WAY THEY HAVE DIED.**_

My head felt like it was about to explode, every molecule felt as though it was going to rip itself away from the rest of me. How did one woman have such power? It wasn't possible, it couldn't be possible, there was no way she could hold such sway over someone, over me! Just as I was trying to force her out of my head, those eyes appeared again in my mind, looking straight into my soul. As I expected more of her booming voice to crack open my skull, a soft whisper played in my ears. Something told me that she was nowhere near me, but still that soft, angel voice was right in my ear.

_Tread carefully, little elf, your soul is scarred and filled with death._

With that, my body was plunged into a world of icy water and I saw the world go black. Tests…I despise tests, what gave that alien the right to test me? Priests were always so ready to forgive people, but even quicker to smite the wicked. Good…bad…words that were supposed to mean something to me was just that, words that meant nothing to me. In my life, good and bad mixed together so much that they might as well be the same thing to me.

Lights began to trickle in, dancing in front of me, taunting me like a malicious child. Time went on, and the lights began to form something hazy, amorphous in nature. My mind struggled to cope with such an image, but soon the images played out, taking shape into something I didn't understand. The scene had finally formed, a classroom filled with children, all of them with long, pointed ears and bright white orbs for eyes. This wasn't just any classroom of high elves, this was the classroom I attended when I was but a child.

"Look at stupid little Aiya! She can barely even read our language, must be because she's just _half_ an elf!" Shouted a spiteful elf with blonde hair, pointing a finger over at a brown-haired girl, trying her hardest to fight back tears as she was ridiculed. Clearly the little one was a half elf, her ears much shorter than the others, with her features slightly harsher than a normal high elf. With the help of the blonde ringleader, the other children began to join like wolves. Jeering, laughing, and pointing were all directed at that poor, defenseless girl. She didn't deserve any of this, she didn't choose her parents, or where she was born. All she wanted was to be a normal girl with her entire future ahead of her.

Thunder followed in the wake of my boot steps, with none of the children seeming to notice me at all. Grabbing the blonde girl's hand, her eyes shot up with me, recognizing me and immediately starting to shake with fear. "Don't EVER believe yourself to be better than anyone else is! She's just a little girl and doesn't deserve to be tortured just for being different! In a few years you're going to be teased as the stupid one and the only person that could have helped you was pushed away because of you! Aiya was forced to be homeschooled, but the teasing got so bad that eventually she…eventually she…" My past self was beginning to cry, and I began to cry as well. Somehow, I didn't squeeze her arm too hard, or perhaps Illusions don't feel pain.

Slowly I looked at her hand, no longer pointing, but curled in a scared fist. I was so afraid that others were going to discover me as a simpleton that I broke the spirit of another living being. Gently placing my hand on that fist, I unfurled it into an open palm. "From now on…only use these hands to help others, never to harm them." My chest was heaving, and the armor I wore felt heavier somehow, but more than anything, I wished that someone had told me that when I was younger. Perhaps then, things would be different for me.

"What a bunch of hypocritical nonsense from a murderer." The little girl said, looking at me with a look of intense rage. "As if you've ever used your hands to help others, all you've ever done is kill people!" Suddenly, the other children looked at me, even Aiya, chanting at me the same word repeatedly.

_Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer! Murderer! MURDERER!_

Before I could escape, my past self began grabbed my arm, holding it with an incredible grip. "Life for a life, murderers only deserve to be murdered!" That was when they began to attack me, all of the children were punching, kicking, tearing at my armor. One had climbed up my back and was squeezing my head with the strength of an ettin. Using my free hand, I was able to throw the child off, but in the process lost my helm. These couldn't just be illusions, they had to be spirits of some sort, summoned to torture me until I died. Why did priests have to be so damned poetic with their ways of killing people?

Summoning as much strength as I could, I wrenched my arm from my past self, and began fighting back. As much as it pained me to hurt the children, already they had torn off chunks of my armor, leaving vulnerable parts of my body completely exposed. When I struck one of the killer children in the face, he became nothing but darkness. Perhaps they were just spirits. With that in mind, I was able to destroy the rest of the shadow children.

Most of my midriff was showing, with my legs and arms having only a scarce couple of plates protecting them. If Mustang ever saw me like this, he'd bury me alive while calling me a no good princess. Shadows began to gather around me, swirling like a dark fog, and then retreating into a spot a few feet away from me. The obsidian colored mist began to form into something, as tall as me…as wide as me…that looked like me. Whatever was happening, I knew it wasn't going to be good, or pleasant.

Seconds passed, with the form now taking flesh and bone, it was an exact copy of myself. The skin was an ashen grey, her eyes blood red, the hair pale like the moon; even the scars on her face were the same as mine. While my armor was a light grey, hers was darker, more vicious. Everything about her seemed aggressive, angry, and dangerous. Her lips cracked into a wide, evil smile. Giggles of a terrifying variety escaped those wicked lips and her voice was like pure venom.

"Stop looking so surprised, silly. We've gotten to know each other these past few years. All those fights, those matches, all those times you've just felt so angry…that's me." She giggled again and a chill went down my spine. "It's just been so fun! You have no idea just how much of a monster you really are, Selandra. Oh especially after what that human Richard did to you, I wish that could happen again so I could feel that much freedom again!" Like a giddy little child, she wrapped her arms around herself, as though she was just free from a prison. "Now that wonderful priestess has allowed me to take form, and to achieve freedom." Her gaze turned to me, and now she was looking at me like a predator. "As soon as you're dead, I'm going to take your little body and have some _real_ fun. That fool doesn't know what she's done, she didn't know that you had a small amount of demonic taint inside of you, even before you became a blood elf. For years you've nurtured me with your rage, and now you're little girl is all grown up and I wanna leave the nest!" Lunging at me we crashed through desks, the real fight had begun.

Very early in my career, they taught me hand-to-hand combat. I was taught very basic techniques, in the off chance that my weapons were taken from me. At first, I considered myself talented with my fists, but I found it distasteful, because when I started to throw my fists, my rage got out of control. Now it was out of both control, and pounding me into the floor like thunder. Perhaps I had found the one opponent that I cannot defeat.

"Come on Selandra! Where is that will to survive that kept you going for so long? I'm going to kill you Selandra! Then I'm going to kill your friends like Zelbo! Then I'm going to kill every last thing that you care about, including your bastard child!" My child…my little child taken away from me by that devil, forced to be raised by him while I'm here…getting beaten to death by my own, sinful anger, laughing at me like a crazed demon.

Why was I so angry? I fell in love with a man who only broke my heart and stole my only child. The city that I grew up in for my entire life crumbled to a butcher and I was left to die. Now I'm a slave to a greedy goblin, fighting for him for the entertainment of a bloodthirsty crowd...a goblin that was funny and kind to me. Silvermoon had done nothing but scorned me because of my inability to use magic and unwillingness to fight. A horrible, vicious, cruel man that turned my life upside down…and whom I still loved deeply. Why was I angry? Maybe…I was angry for the wrong reasons.

"Come on Selandra! Just give in and die!" The demon threw another punch, I suspected that this would kill me, and then the demon would make good on her promise. She would most likely go on a killing spree, murdering countless people until put down by some hero. By then…I would be hated for ages to come as some monster to scare little children. No…I cannot…I refuse to let it end like this, I refuse to die like a damned dog!

Grabbing the fist with my hand, I held it in place, using all the strength I had to keep it from my face. This seemed to only elicit more taunting from the witch. "Oooh! Now you're going to fight? I've done a real number on that pretty little face of yours. Can't wait to see what I can do when I take it for myself." This creature was not going to take my body, she was not going to kill my son, and I was going to end her! Taking control of the fight, I threw her off me; I pounced on the demon and began striking her with all that I had. I wasn't just angry at Richard, at my city's fall, at my situation of being a gladiator.

I was ANGRY that I still tried to see the good in a monster who took my baby! I was ANGRY that I didn't leave that damned city while it was kicking me in the teeth! I was ANGRY that I felt so mopey about being something that made me actually feel strong for once in my life! I am ANGRY that I haven't gotten the courage to take back my life and find my baby! Every time I struck her, I felt more of my strength returning to me, making my fists strike harder. Something was off though…every time I hit her, the world seemed to blink, switching from that classroom to the arena, the roars of the crowd appearing for just an instant. Even the demon wouldn't keep its shape, I wasn't sure who it was trying to change itself into, but it didn't matter.

With a final strike, I felt the cracking of bone and knew her neck had snapped like a twig. Never before had my fists felt so bloody, my breathing so ragged, my body so hot. This world shifted once more, this time reverting back to its original form until the arena came crashing down on me. How had the sun become so hot? Why was the crowd cheering so loudly? They never cheered so loudly at my matches before, and they looked like they were mad with blood lust. Regaining my senses, my hands felt like they were broken, looking down at them, they were covered in blood…blue blood. The priestess was right before me, dead in my hands with her neck snapped. No…no this wasn't right...I passed the test…I was killing the demon…not…no…


End file.
